


A Regular Thing

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire, Enjolras discovers, is a friend of Bahorel and Jehan's. He is disappointed he's never met the guy before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Regular Thing

"Bourbon again, was it?"

"With all respect, Bahorel, how I choose to self-destruct in only my own company is very much my own business." Enjolras regarded the phone on loud-speaker with raised eyebrows when he noticed it, not recognizing the voice. Joly, Jehan Prouvaire and Bahorel were crowded around it, each leaning forwards.

"Oh, Grantaire, don’t." Joly’s voice was soft and pleading as he looked at the phone on the table between them. 

"You should come, you’ll enjoy it. It’s a nice café, good people."

"Good people don’t-"

"Oh, shut up." Bahorel grumbled. "Put on a fucking shirt, and come to the fucking Musain."

"I don’t want to."

"Do I sound like I give a damn what you want? Come to the Musain."

"Please, Grantaire." Joly said, and Jehan joined him.

"Come, the room is warm and comfortably lit, and the Louis, the waitress, is pretty and sharp, and the regulars are like us."

"Like us?" The voice had a gruffness to it, and Enjolras couldn’t tell if that was from drink or illness or natural tendency, but he didn’t suppose it mattered. "What, sad, lonely fools in a rotten-"

"Wax poetic about the tortures of humanity when you get here, if you will. Ten minutes, Grantaire." Bahorel said, and then he tapped the phone and hung up.

"Do you think he’ll come?" Joly and Jehan both looked to Bahorel for their answer, but the larger man shrugged.

"Who can tell?"

"Enjolras?" The blond turned away from watching the others, looking to Combeferre. "Marius wants to know if you’ve done the essay."

"Essay? Essay! Yes, I have, uh…" Enjolras grabbed at his satchel, moving over to where Pontmercy had settled with Courfeyrac, and set it on the table for Marius to see. He compared it to his own essay with a furrowed brow and pursed lips, seeming a little anxious, but Courfeyrac pointed out better points. 

Marius kept on until Courfeyrac quietened him with a kiss, and Enjolras and Combeferre both laughed when Marius was released with his cheeks red and his lips newly plump, looking a little dazed. 

"It’s fine, Pontmercy." Enjolras said, distracted, and then the door opened with a ring of a bell, and Enjolras stared. The man in the doorway was completely dishevelled, his hair a mess where it came out from under a sea-green beanie, obvious bags under his eyes, his stubble roughly shaved and mostly untamed.

He was slouching, wearing a thick, baggy jumper marred all over with holes over green skinny jeans, and when he put his hand up to his mouth to take a cigarette from it, Enjolras noticed the green polish on his nails. More sea green. 

Courfeyrac often joked that Enjolras was too obvious about his favourite colour, said he wore too much red. It was nice, in a certain fashion, to know that he was not alone in that regard.

"I’m here, I’m queer, get a fucking drink in me." The man grumbled when he dropped into the seat spare on Jehan and Bahorel’s table, and Joly was immediately at his shoulder, almost in the other man’s lap as he examined his face and regarded his eyes with a concerned expression.

"You don’t look great."

"I’m alive, aren’t I?" Enjolras’ lip twitched at the words, said with too much practice and too much fatigue in them. Joly didn’t like it either, judging by his expression, but he pulled back all the same, tapping Grantaire’s face in an affectionate fashion. He moved over to Combeferre when the other med student waved, and Grantaire looked to Bahorel.

Enjolras stood and moved across the room, putting his hand on the back of Jehan Prouvaire’s chair, regarding the newcomer with interest. “Bahorel, your friend?”

"This is Grantaire."

"And this is an angel. You entice me with the pretty girls, and you don’t tell me there’s a gorgeous creature like this in the room?" Grantaire complained, but he didn’t take his eyes off Enjolras, offering a hand for the blond to shake. Enjolras took it, and Grantaire’s hand was warm but his grip was tight, and when he pulled back Enjolras still felt the ghost of it on his own hand.

"Not into boys." Enjolras said, teeth grit together. "Or girls."

"That would be why." Bahorel said cleverly.

"Beauty counts for something whether you wish to date or not." Grantaire said softly, regarding Enjolras with a deliberate look. It was more an examination than a glance, and he took in Enjolras’ face before looking at his jeans and his boots, thoughtful.

"And what counts when you don’t have it?" Enjolras asked, and Grantaire tilted his head, and then he gave a shrug.

"I don’t know. Ask them." Grantaire said, and he gestured to Bahorel and Jehan, his smile self-deprecating. Enjolras blinked at him.

"You aren’t ugly, Grantaire." Jehan said, taking a sip of the colourful drink on the table before him. "Flaws can be quit-"

"Drink, Jehan." Grantaire said sharply, and Jehan hummed his disapproval, but stood and moved across the room all the same. He looked mulishly at the table before him, and Enjolras wondered if he shouldn’t stay where he was, if he should leave them be.

"Get much work done?" Grantaire pressed his hand to his face, sliding it up, pushing his hat off his head and revealing a thick mess of dark locks, dropping his hat on the table and giving a soft sigh. 

"Two paintings. Uh, some commission sketches. An album cover thing."

"In four days?" Bahorel gave a low whistle. "Impressive."

"It’s not like I do anything else, man." Grantaire muttered.

"Paintings are?"

"Sold."

"There you go then." Bahorel said. "You’re more successful than the rest of us." Enjolras looked between them.

"You’re an artist?"

"At his very soul." Jehan said, sliding back into his chair and dropping a bottle and a glass in front of Grantaire. "He always has been."

“ _You’ve_  always been a dick.”

"Dick, cock, prick." Jehan pulled a face, lip curled in a disgusted fashion. "Member, perhaps." Jehan corrected in a decided fashion. "Nicer word. Gentler."

"A flowery word."

"I am nothing if not a flowery man, my friend." and Grantaire snorted, pouring himself a glass of the red wine. 

"Are you two friends?"

"They don’t know themselves." Bahorel said, pushing back the chair Joly had vacated earlier and letting Enjolras take it. "I don’t either." Jehan took Grantaire’s wrist, pulling it to his mouth and sipping from the glass. The black lipstick he wore left a stain on the glass, but Grantaire didn’t care.

He made a face as he pulled back, letting out a choked noise with a drop of red dribbling down his chin. 

"You don’t like wine." Grantaire said.  "You  _know_  you don’t like wine.”

"Maybe it’s an acquired taste. Like olives." Grantaire laughed at him, and Jehan grinned to himself even though he was swallowing hard. Enjolras looked between them, a little perplexed by the interaction.

"But you prefer Bourbon to wine." Grantaire’s head whipped around to regard Enjolras, with suspicion.

"Whiskey’s not so kind." He said, and Enjolras stared at him.

"Your mother ever tell you it’s rude to stare?"

"My mother has always talked to me as little as possible." Enjolras said, not turning away from Grantaire’s gaze, and he noticed the subtle widen of the other man’s eyes, but then he grinned.

"My father hates me too." 

"Should I leave you to fuck on this table?"

"He doesn’t fuck, he sai-"

"I don’t date." Grantaire blinked at him.

"Pardon?"

"I’m aromantic, bisexual."

"Pansexual. Very romantic. Shut up, Jehan." Grantaire said as Prouvaire opened his mouth, and the poet closed it again with an audible click.

"Capable of detachment?" Enjolras asked, and he drummed his fingers on the table.

"More than. I wouldn’t last with you anyway. You’re an optimist, aren’t you?" Enjolras tilted his head.

"You don’t date optimists?"

"Not overt ones." Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

"Is my optimism overt?"

"Yes." Grantaire said firmly. He gave no explanation. And then, in a fluid motion, he stood, moving over to the bar. He handed over a note for the wine, returning and picking up the bottle. He offered Enjolras his arm. 

"You must be kidding."

"I’m an incredibly serious man, Enjolras."

"Are you?"

"Not in the least." Enjolras took his arm.

"You going?" Combeferre asked, looking between Enjolras and the newcomer with interest.

"I’ll be back."

"If he can walk." Grantaire said, and Enjolras’ lip twitched.

"You should be careful about making promises like that. What if you disappoint?" Grantaire gave a wry smile.

"I don’t disappoint."

"So much more than I  _ever_  needed to hear.” Combeferre said, keeping his face straight despite himself. “Out, shoo, go away, both of you.” Grantaire led Enjolras out of the café, and in their haste to go, they did not see Combeferre collapse to groan and hide his face in his hands as Courfeyrac laughed at his discomfort.

Grantaire’s legs were shorter but he kept his stride equal with Enjolras’. “Your apartment?”

"Five minutes away." Grantaire said, and Enjolras let out a "hmm". 

"Why’s this the first time you’ve come to the café then?"

"I don’t go out much these days."

"No? Why’s that?"

"I’ve work to get on with, Bourbon to wince at, bad movies to watch." Enjolras snorted, and then he grabbed Grantaire by the collar, leaning down to capture the other man’s lips in a deep kiss, enjoying the feel of Grantaire’s mouth on his, the stubble sharp against Enjolras’ hairless skin. When he tangled his hands in Grantaire’s hair, the other groaned, and Enjolras froze.

"I’ve forgotten my hat." Grantaire complained, and Enjolras snorted before kissing him again, taking the bottle of wine from Grantaire’s hand and sipping at it.

"God, that’s awful."

"Ah, another Jehan."

"No, I  _like_  wine, Grantaire, and this is not wine.”

"What is it?"

“ _Piss_.” Enjolras spat, and Grantaire laughed, guffaw echoing on the twilit street. 

"Hurry coming home with me and I’ll put something better in your mouth."

"What an awful euphemism."

"I meant like, juice or Pepsi or something, but if your mind prefers its gutter I’ll make no effort to drag you out." Enjolras snorted, and Grantaire took his hand, leading him further.

Grantaire’s apartment was on the ground floor (Enjolras thanked God for small mercies and easy journeys), and as soon as the door was closed behind them and the wine placed on the dresser, Grantaire backed Enjolras up against the wall, biting at his neck.

"Fuck, no, bed, God-" Grantaire laughed, leading Enjolras back and down the hall, into a red-painted room.

"This is your bedro- wow." Enjolras caught sight of a painting in the corner of the room. He recognized Joly and Bossuet, and vaguely recognized Musichetta between them - Enjolras had not been formally introduced to her, but knew her by sight. "That’s gorgeous."

"I know Joly through Jehan and Bahorel. Bahorel boxes with me on Sundays." Grantaire said, moving behind Enjolras and pressing his chest against the other’s back, his hands moving cleverly on the buttons of Enjolras’ shirt. "Joly commissioned the painting for his mother, I think it is."

"You know Joly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Jehan. Not me."

"Not you, not the two brunet guys. Combeferre?"

"And Courfeyrac. Do you know Marius?"

"Nope." 

"You’ll like them. I mean, if you decide to come again."

"Maybe." And then Grantaire was pulling Enjolras’ shirt from his shoulders, setting it aside on his headboard. Enjolras batted Grantaire’s hands away to rapidly shuck off his boots and his trousers, wanting to be naked as soon as possible, and Grantaire followed suit.

And then Grantaire, suddenly and without Enjolras being fully conscious of how, had Enjolras on the bed, his legs spread, and Grantaire was between his thighs, a bottle of lube in his hand. Grantaire fucked two fingers forwards and Enjolras arched, letting out a low groan.

"Fuck." Enjolras muttered under his breath, and Grantaire chuckled lowly. 

"That’s right. You’re not gonna be able to walk, remember?"

"I’ll believe it when I feel it." Grantaire fucked a third finger into Enjolras, scissoring them, and Enjolras felt the  _burn_  of it, letting out a sharp noise that wasn’t just pain nor just pleasure. “Reach behind you, condoms on the bedside table.” Enjolras did, handing Grantaire a packet as he fucked Enjolras with his fingers, and the blond was left groaning as he tilted his hips up for more.

"You’re a real ass man, huh?" Enjolras asked, noting the other’s concentrated expression, and Grantaire chuckled.

"That’s me. Only reason I’m friends with Prouvaire."

"He has a nice ass." Enjolras allowed.

"He  _is_  an ass.” Enjolras was laughing until Grantaire twisted his fingers, and then it was cut off with a choked, strangled moan. Grantaire rolled the condom on, and then, dear God, thank God, he was fucking forwards, and Enjolras let out sharp, whining sounds because fuck, for all Grantaire might have lacked in excessive length, he was _thick_.

“Shit, shit, shit-” Enjolras wrapped his legs around Grantaire's thighs, heels against the meat at the back of them as he pulled Grantaire as deep as he could get him, letting choked noises out against Grantaire's shoulder. He scratched at Grantaire's back, thick scrams marking Grantaire's muscle in red, raised marks, and the brunet gave a hiss of pain even as he arched his back for more.

“God, you're a fucking animal.” He muttered, and Enjolras mewled as Grantaire began to thrust forwards, pulling back as best he could with Enjolras attempting to hold him in place. “Shit, you're pretty like this. Do you do this often? Go home with fucking random men, let them fuck this sweet little ass of yours?” Enjolras' one hand grabbed at Grantaire's hair, pulling his head down against his neck, and Grantaire complied, layering bite after bite on the skin before him and marking it in red.

“Shit, fuck, I- sometimes.” 

“Bet your friends fucking think about it, God, bet they all think about pretty little Enjolras on his knees-” Enjolras let out a whine as Grantaire punctuated this with a sharp bite to his neck, one that came very close to drawing blood. Grantaire's left hand was next to Enjolras' head in order to keep him steady, but now with his right he reached between them, grasping at Enjolras' cock and beginning to jerk him off. “Sucking a cock, sucking _me_ , fuck, bet they think about you with a cock in your ass and a hand in your hair, bet they _wank_ over it when they go home to their beds.”

“Dear God, you've got a fucking mouth on you.” Enjolras managed to choke out, his right hand digging crescent marks into Grantaire's shoulder as his left tugged demandingly at his hair.

“And you've got a fucking ass on you, blondie.” Grantaire dropped Enjolras' cock, and before the taller man could replace Grantaire's strayed hand with his own, Grantaire had grabbed both of his hands and pinned them above his head. He sat up a little as he continued to thrust his hips against Enjolras', ensuring there was no friction on his cock, and Enjolras cried out.

“Fuck, no,let me-”

“Oh, no, no, no. I'm gonna fuck you 'til you cry, sweetheart.” Enjolras whined, head tipping back again and Grantaire took the invitation once more, biting and nipping and kissing at the sensitive skin laid out before him. “Gonna fuck you 'til you're begging to be allowed to come, and then _I'm_ going to come, and then I'm going to spank this gorgeous little backside of yours. And maybe, _maybe_ , I'll take mercy on you and fuck you with my fingers, let you come then.”

Enjolras' response was a high keen of sound, but Grantaire made no false promises. Enjolras was uncomfortable within several minutes of Grantaire's hard rhythm, squirming underneath him because shit, he couldn't come without _something_ on his dick, and judging from Grantaire's incessantly smug little grin, that was exactly what he'd been counting on.

“Come on, man, let me- shit, let me-”

“You can tap out, dude, and I'll let you come any time you want. It's a challenge, but I'm not gonna force you.” Grantaire said, and Enjolras bit hard on his lip, worrying the skin there.

“If I say _safeword_...”

“I'll stop straight-up.” Enjolras nodded, and then, dear Holy God above, Grantaire sped up. It wasn't a massive difference, the difference in speed barely remarkable, but it was enough that Enjolras let out a cry. 

“Shit, fuck, let me- let me-”

“Not gonna let you.” Grantaire teased, and Enjolras found himself _adoring_ that smug expression, because dear God, his cock was hard, and this was more than what Enjolras needed. “Gonna fucking leave you edge for ages. You ever been edged before, kiddo?” And shit, fuck, Grantaire couldn't have been three years older than him, and Enjolras spat.

“Don't call me that.” And it wasn't even that Enjolras took real offence, but he wanted to play the brat, now, wanted to snap and snark and make Grantaire be just a little harder on him. 

“Ooh, have I hit a _sore_ spot?” And then Grantaire angled his hips slightly differently, hit a spot that was far from sore, and Enjolras let out a cry. “You're fucking pretty when you moan.” And Enjolras couldn't really respond to that, not with words, so he just continued to squirm and struggle and fuck his hips up, letting out desperate little grunts. 

He was breathing heavily after a few more minutes, and shit, what sort of fucking stamina did this guy _have_? “Let me come.” And here was the edge of true desperation, where Enjolras' tone was just a tad thicker than it should have been, because shit, shit, shit-

“Are you going to _cry_?” And Enjolras choked, because Grantaire's smug expression had somehow intensified, and God, he was so _frustrated_ , coiled as tightly as a fucking spring, and he needed to come, needed to.

“No.” Enjolras muttered, and Grantaire laughed at him, adjusting his grip on Enjolras' wrists. 

“You're gonna cry, aren't you? I can understand, need it so _bad_ , and you're just so tense you need that release, need to get over that edge, _need_ it, want it, crave it-” Enjolras let out a sob, and then he broke, tears on his cheek and ugly noises coming out of his mouth, and fuck, the tears were _hot_ as they were wet, and Grantaire chuckled as he fucked forwards, and he was coming, and then he'd tied the condom and thrown it into the bin at the side of the bed, and Enjolras couldn't tell you how it happened – all he knew was that he was suddenly over Grantaire's knee and there was a hand coming down on his ass, jolting him forwards and making his cock rub against Grantaire's thigh.

“Not gonna need to fingerfuck me.” Enjolras whimpered out between desperate sobs, and Grantaire hummed, pleased, as he brought his hand down _hard_ , creating a blossom of red across Enjolras' ass. “Dear God.” His cock felt so _good_ , pressing against Grantaire's thigh with each smack, and he was bucking his hips too, keening as he pressed back for more and fucked down for friction.

“Shit, you're fucking sublime.” Grantaire whispered the words under his breath, and Enjolras tried to respond, tried to, but Grantaire brought a spank down on the backs of his thighs, pushing him right forwards across his lap, and Enjolras was _coming_ , letting out cries of sound as he hid his face against Grantaire's thigh. “You just came.”

“Yeah, I did, shit, fuck, do you have any tissues, I'm-” Grantaire carefully pulled Enjolras up onto the bed so he could kneel, handing him the box and letting Enjolras pull one out. He wiped at his eyes, blowing his nose, and Grantaire offered a not-at-all apolegetic smile.

“Too much?”

“I could handle a lot more than _you_ could give.” Enjolras said, grinning a little despite the fact that he was _shaking_ , and yeah, yeah, that might have been the best fucking orgasm he'd had in his life.

“Oh, you think so, huh? We'll just have to test that theory out, make this a regular thing.”

“Make the Musain a regular thing, and I'll comply.” 

“Ooh.” Grantaire slid out on the bed, and Enjolras moved to lie beside him. “You _must_ be a lawyer.”

“Studying law, yeah.” Grantaire _groaned. “_ No wonder you're a sneaky bastard.”

“I'm not being sneaky, I'm bargaining.”

“Even worse. I'll do it.” Enjolras shook the other's hand, and Grantaire grinned at him, all teeth and bitten lips. “So, blondie. What's your recovery like?”

“You want to go again?”

“God yeah. I still need to fingerfuck you like I promised.” Enjolras snorted, sprawling out. 

“I'm not getting home tonight, am I?”

“Fuck no. If I can manage it, you're not going home this _week_.” And then Enjolras was laughing, and he shot forwards, kissing Grantaire and biting at his lips, playful. “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, my good man.”

“I won't call it a friendship until I hear your political opinions.”

“Ooh, fighting words, I like it!” Grantaire took sympathy though, regarding Enjolras with a thoughtful look. “You want a nap first?”

“I think you've exhausted me for the time being, yeah.” Enjolras muttered, and Grantaire grinned. 

“Great.” He took the tissue from Enjolras' hand, throwing it into the bin at his bedside, and then turned the bedside light off. “You, um, you don't want to cuddle, right? 'Cause it's really not my thing.”

“Oh, God, no, I get too hot. I kick, too.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Grantaire and Enjolras settled at their sides of the bed, close enough to be warm, far enough apart to be comfortable. 

“Combeferre's going to want to meet you.” Enjolras said lazily, voice obviously drowsy in the dark.

“What, is this like a meet the folks thing?” Enjolras didn't respond, and a few minutes later, Grantaire heard a soft snore. He grinned to himself, closing his own eyes. God, he loved a quick sleeper beside him. 


End file.
